My house smells like a sex toy. I swear, it’s not what you think.

You know those romance parties?  Groups of ladies gather together to giggle over naughty euphemisms and freely discuss their sexuality, while snacking on suggestively shaped foods and perusing the latest and greatest pleasure enhancing products out there.

I’ve been to a couple.

They’re totally fun.

No, the Captain and I don’t NEED anything to enhance our bedroom relationship, but sometimes it’s fun to try something new, even if it is a different scented massage oil.

I’ve brought a few things home from these parties.  Mostly door or game prizes (Who can suck the candy off a Blow Pop the fastest?  This chick.) and a few small purchases, like lube and whatnot.

Things that were used once or twice and promptly forgotten about in my bedside table.

Until now.

When the nearly 2 year old Mr. Monkey went perusing through our bedroom drawers while I was cooking dinner and the Captain was showering off his softball game.

For some reason he has a fascination with lotions lately.  Leave the toothpaste within his reach and he’ll squeeze half the tube out in a heartbeat:

Why yes, my bathroom does smell clean! We can thank the Cabin Boys and half a tube of Toms Peppermint toothpaste for that. #hairisgoinggrey
— Jessica Cobb (@DomesticPirate) June 13, 2013

Or, he’ll scale the changing table to get to the diaper cream:


Apparently, Strawberry Cheesecake Massage Cream is no exception.

Upon Captain’s arrival to the bedroom from the bathroom, he discovered it:

On my laptop
Our comforter
The floor
The bedside table
The dresser
CB2’s face
The stairway wall
The stair rail

But NOT, ironically, on any of our ‘toys.’


If dinner hadn’t been ready right at the moment of discovery, it would have been an early bath time.

As it stands, we had dinner while Mr. Monkey, Captain, and I all smelled very strongly of intimate cream.

Cabin Girl thought it was lovely.

And now I’m hoping the Captain will take my pleas to replace our bedroom door handle more seriously.

Booty my kid keeps sticking in his booty

Look.  We’re all pirates here.  We love booty.  We have a house full of crap we don’t need because we LOVE booty.

But you know what I don’t love?  When my kid loves his booty SO much, that he thinks the only safe place for it is IN HIS BOOTY!

“Why you gotta play me like that, bro?”

In the past few weeks (in addition to the homie above), we have discovered:

Twice, in the same day.
 Way too many to count, on far too many separate occasions.
…yeah.  I have no idea how THAT was comfortable.
Just in case he needed to decorate something, STAT.
Vroom Vroom Motherf*&^er!
He likes to keep things that remind him of nature close by, apparently.

Also, CRAYONS.  Lots and lots of crayons.

I’m just thankful that we haven’t found any of these things in his diaper along with what’s SUPPOSED to be in there… yet.

Here’s what not to do with mantis pods

You know what’s nice?  Instead of being woke up by nagging kids begging for food, being woke up with a soft kiss from your other half with a gentle request to come downstairs.

Until you discover why he needs you in the kitchen before 7 a.m.

To set the scene:

You’re 7 months pregnant.  You’ve been fighting the seasonal allergy battle of your life (seriously, you’re considering getting stock in pantyliners and tissues, you’ve been sneezing so hard and so often).  You stayed up late watching Green Hornet with your spouse, and even later reading the sci-fi classic, Ender’s Game, hoping that at some point you would just pass out so hard you wouldn’t be woke up by burning eyes and a runny nose.  At some point you say ‘Screw it,’ and go take some low dose, pregnancy safe allergy medication to try and get a little relief.  As you get settled back into bed with your Nook you consider going downstairs to check on the organic garden pest control you bought earlier that day.

But, ‘No,’ your sleepy, allergy overloaded self says.  ‘The instructions said 2-6 weeks.  Nothing’s going to happen tonight.’  Finally, around the dark hour of 2 a.m., the drugs have done enough work for you that you can take the tissues out of your nose and sleep without fearing a snot coating on your pillow.

Back to 7 a.m., your spouse leads you into the kitchen, saying, ‘Your mantis pods hatched last night.’

Excitement!  “Really?!  Cool!”

‘And they’re all over the kitchen.’


In your defense, the box said that if you wanted to see them hatching, you should put them in a giant bowl.  In your defense, you thought the mesh splatter shield weighted down with a ceramic plate would keep any that *might* be able to climb up the sides of that giant bowl from escaping into the great unknown that is your kitchen.  In your defense, you know abso-freaking-lutely NOTHING about mantis babies.  For all the wide-world of information that is at your fingertips, you trusted a box to give you all the information you needed about the safe hatching of hundreds of tiny bugs.

So, you spend the first hour of your morning hunting down baby bugs in your kitchen.  BEFORE you get coffee.



  • Did you know that those long back legs make it super easy for a mantis to jump?


  • Did you know that they will play dead?


  • Did you know that they move extremely fracking fast?


  • Did you know that they’re so light and tiny that they practically float to the ground on their numerous suicide-bomber-like attempts to escape you?


  • Did you know that kids will automatically assume they are spiders and try to squash them?


After you think you’ve gotten most of them, you grab your coffee and take a few minutes to catch on up internet stuff.

And you can’t help but smile when you hear your spouse say, “Hey little baby, where’d you come from?” as he’s getting his lunch ready.  Because, really… they’re kind of cute.

Who knows?  Maybe they’ll help with the fruit flies that always seem to ride in on your bananas.

Someone Order a Maternity Test

Last weekend Cabin Girl performed with her ballet company in the city arts department’s rendition of James and the Giant Peach.  I volunteered backstage, but she has 2 more performances this coming weekend, one of which I get to watch, so expect a full post full of glitter and tutus early next week.

Anyway, since I couldn’t watch, and no one was there to give her flowers, I decided to grab her a treat on our way home afterwards Saturday.  

She chose Starburst.

And then, after eating the first one, offering a piece to me, giving her dad and brother a piece, this happened:

This is the child that MADE encouraged me to eat an entire turtle cheesecake a week, by myself (really; so much as look at my cheesecake, and I will eat your face), every week of the 3rd trimester from within the womb.  I would down 32 ounces of blueberry Italian soda on my way to work, every morning.

And now she’s content to let candy sit in the cupboard, taunting the rest of the family, for DAYS?!

It’s a sad morning when you realize you have less willpower than a not-quite 7 year old.

Mud Runs and Mom Proms

For Mother’s Day, I get family pictures and some random thing that hubby heard me say I’d like or need.  Usually, it’s not something for ME, but for the house/family in general.  I don’t mind, because he doesn’t do random standby stuff, but occasionally I’d like something that’s sole purpose was to make me happy.

This Mother’s Day, I got it.  It was a week late, but I’m not one to be picky.

My Tacoma bestie and I signed up for the Dirty Girl Mud Run in Seattle, WA, and another friend of mine joined us at 8 a.m. to climb shit, crawl through freezing pools of rocky muck, and get dirt in our underwear.

I have seriously never had so much fun, EVER.
There was a big pool of muddy water at the bottom of this slide.  Enema, anyone?
We finished!
Jessie, moi, and Saranda (who, by the way, was the FIRST to finish.  Beastly.).
Think I don’t look too dirty?  LOOK AT MY SHOES (which I donated, mostly because I’m lazy and didn’t want to clean them)!

We rinsed off in COLD water, hung out, ate a LOT of food (well, I ate a lot of food), then Jessie and I headed off to our cheapo motel in Seattle to shower and nap before our ladies night!

Look at how nicely we clean up.

We had dinner at Terra Plata and it was DIVINE.  If you are ever in Seattle and need a nice place to nom, check. it. out.

After I snarfed down ate my dinner with decorum befitting of a lady, we trudged out way up the hill to our parking spot (in our heels, because we’re smart like that- LET’S WEAR HIGH HEELS IN SEATTLE!) and headed to meet some more friends at the:

Mom Prom!

“The Ultimate Ladies Night Out”

Silent auction, awesome DJ, tables full of 80s goodies, and CANDY everywhere!  We didn’t have to share it with any kids!  Caaaaannnnddddyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Oh, and booze.  I only side note that because, well, you know, the pregnant thing (I did indulge in a mimosa though).

This was pre-booze.  Who knows how to party?  A bunch of moms.

We danced until almost midnight.  Sans shoes, of course.

I’ve discovered how our parents did it (not THAT ‘did it’)

I know how generations before us kept up the perfect housewife routine, and why they are so confused as to why, as parents today, we just can’t keep up with everything:

Their outlet WAS cleaning.

I discovered this last night as I folded laundry, in a quiet room, by myself, while Captain was downstairs entertaining the 3 squalling Cabin Kids.  

If I was being productive, I had an excuse to be left alone.


Now, I’m not saying the only outlet they needed was a scrub brush and a pair of rubber gloves, but during the day when they reached a breaking point they didn’t have social media to connect to.  Video games weren’t something everyone had.  A cell phone wasn’t in their pocket to provide the instant gratification of the quiet that is the eye of the storm.

I’ve been fighting a congestion headache for a week.  A WEEK.  It feels like my brain is about to ooze out of my tear ducts (you’re welcome for the image).  Captain had been really understanding all day about letting me escape to our bedroom for a few minutes of staring at a wall in darkness and silence, and had even encouraged me to take a 2 hour nap.  But immediately upon exciting the sanctuary of our bedroom the pain doubled from the general noise that occurs from having little people in your house.

So, after dinner, I went into the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher.  People left me alone.  Interesting.  After bathtime, I folded and put away 3 full baskets of laundry (all washed that day, even!).  No one even came to see what I was up to.

It’s like there was an unspoken announcement that I was doing something B-O-R-I-N-G, and therefore wasn’t worth the task of finding.  

Never thought I’d say THAT.

Now I just need to figure out how to legally put my kids in a padded room during the day so they don’t destroy the rest of the house while I’m at it.

The 11 ways sushi is like sex

The other day I had sushi for the first time in YEARS.  Since before I was pregnant with Mr. Monkey.  I had a serious craving for it and there’s a great little conveyor belt place near our house that has smoked salmon and cream cheese, tempura shrimp, and chicken katsu rolls.  All definitely preggo safe.  So I indulged and IT WAS LIKE SEX IN MY MOUTH.  Except for, you know, actually being sex in my mouth…

ANYHOO… that got me thinking… sushi is kind of like sex!  Let me count the ways…

But, no matter the other similarities, it’s not okay to invite your friends over for one of them.  Unless you roll that way *snicker*.  No judgements here!  Just don’t expect an invite to our house for anything called ‘hand rolls’ anytime soon.
P.S.  Sorry, but I couldn’t resist throwing the fish one in there!  You know what they say… When in Rome and all that.

14 Ways Pregnant Women are like Toddlers

Is that so, you say?  Oh yes, I say.

Macaroni and cheese with a side of pb&j and apple juice for lunch, please!  Don’t be stingy with the ketchup!

Chances are good they might not make it to the toilet in time.

If they can’t find their red shirt and have to wear their yellow shirt instead, you will hear about it ALL. DAY.

They outgrow their clothes every 2-3 months.

Also, those clothes are optional.

They throw a fit if they can’t have dessert after they eat half a pizza for dinner.

They either sleep like the dead or don’t sleep at all.

Whatever it is you’re making for breakfast, they don’t want it.

You can hear them walking stomping through rooms from any location in the house.

They need help getting dressed and tying their shoes.

They make unreasonable demands in the middle of the night.

They’re magnets for unsolicited advice and judgement.

They have the attention span of a goldfish. 

They cry about EVERYTHING.

I know this, because I am one!

TMI: Hilarity

If you couldn’t tell from the title, this is a possible TMI post.

BUT, it’s hilarious, so I feel the need to share.

If you’re a parent then you know how hard it is to find time to be intimate.  There’s always the chance of someone interrupting; either by walking in or crying because they have some sick sixth sense that you’re giving someone that isn’t them your full attention.  And, yes, this does occur out of a deep sleep, in the middle of the damn night.

So, since I’ve been getting up at 5 a.m. to work out I’ve been going to bed around 9 p.m., which doesn’t allow for much kid-free time.  Which means that as soon as the kids go to bed, we *ahem* go to bed, too.

Well… the last time we ‘went to bed’ I forgot that there were still partially awake ears in the house and may have been a little… loud.

In walks Cabin Girl, wondering, ‘Why are you scared, mommy?’

*end scene*

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